“I love how excited you get,” I tell him. I find some bravery in me and grip his hand. My heart nearly stops when he turns his hand over and clasps it with mine. “So many people are taught to moderate their emotions, but you’re so pure. I love the way I can see how happy you are just by looking at you.”
Hugo sighs. “Thanks, Torin.”
For a minute, we sit in silence, just holding hands. My heart races. I can’t believe this is real. That this is really happening. Hugo isn’t angry or upset at all. He’shappy.
It’s very surreal for me, and I’m still not entirely convinced this is really happening. Things like this don’t happen in real life.
“We should eat these before they’re cold,” Hugo says. “They’re good cold, but they’re better hot.”
I nod.
Hugo reaches for one and dips it in the sauce. I’m surprised when he offers it to me at the level of my mouth. Flushing, I leanforward to take a bite. The way my skin burns, I’m almost too self-conscious to look at Hugo, but I can’t stop myself from meeting his eyes.
The way he’s looking at me has me nearly floating off my seat. It only further solidifies that I’m dreaming. I don’t taste the little rice ball at all. I’m aware that it melts in my mouth and I remember how much I loved it when Hugo first took me to Antonio’s, but right now, I can’t taste anything as I stare into this man’s eyes.
“Good?” he asks.
I nod because I’m positive they are good.
Hugo dips the second half of the ball into the sauce and finishes it himself. He gave me his first bite. Maybe that shouldn’t mean anything, but it makes my stomach dance wildly. I’m not sure if I can eat tonight. I’m far too anxious and nervous and excited and terrified. Right now, I’m more worried that I might throw up than I am of waking up to find out this isn’t real.
The way my heart would shatter has me almost gasping.
Hugo offers me the first bite of the next arancini. I take it. We continue through the plate this way until they’re gone. Then he offers me a glass of wine.
I’m not huge into wine, but I thought it seemed like the thing to do for a first date. And this is my least hated kind. I’m truly not sophisticated enough for wine.
I watch as Hugo looks into the glass as if he’s studying the clear liquid. “How do you drink wine?”
Grinning, I look into my own glass as I swirl the liquid within. Hugo watches me and then matches what I’m doing.
“Just sips. You’re supposed to savor it before swallowing.”
Hugo takes a sip and I swear, he swishes it in his mouth and then swallows. His nose wrinkles and I laugh.
“That’s not what I meant. Just… sip. Slowly. Like you’re sick and you can only handle small amounts of liquid at a time and you’re so weak that it’s difficult to swallow it at normal speed.”
He gives me a bemused smile and tries again. There’s no swishing this time, but he’s equally unimpressed. I’m too busy smiling to take my own sip.
“I don’t think I have a taste for wine,” he admits.
I laugh. “That’s okay. I don’t really either, but it’s my first date so I thought maybe a little fancy.”
Hugo grins. “I kinda really love that we’re sharing this first together.”
No, my stomach does not dance with butterflies. “Me too.”
Once Hugo sets his glass down, our waitress appears at the side of the table. Hugo looks up and grins. “Hi, Margerie.”
“Good evening, Hugo. How are you, honey?”
He looks at me with a wide smile. “I’m really, really good.” As predicted, my cheeks heat. Hugo looks back at Margerie. “How are you? How’s Hugh?”
Margerie nods. “All very well, honey. What’ll it be tonight?”
Hugo sighs. Our hands are still linked together and his fingers flex. He looks at me and asks, “How about we share some raviolis tonight? My stomach is all sloshy, so I’m not sure I can eat a whole meal.”
I sag a little because thank fuck. “Yes. Perfect.”
